


This Isn't Kirkwall

by AkuChibi



Series: This Isn't Kirkwall [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Here Lies the Abyss, Introspection, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkuChibi/pseuds/AkuChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris makes up his mind to travel to Skyhold in search of Hawke, after a letter from Varric. Skyhold is peaceful, with mages walking around freely. Different races intermingle. There is no crime to fight. Skyhold is quiet and peaceful, a frozen paradise.</p><p>Skyhold isn't Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Dragon Age fandom, so I do apologize if it is terrible. I haven't completed ANY of the games yet. I'm about six hours into Dragon Age: Origins, about ten hours into Dragon Age 2, and about halfway through Dragon Age Inquisition. In fact I haven't even played Here Lies the Abyss yet, save for after you get to the Western Approach. A friend challenged me to write a Dragon Age story, and this started as a small introspective drabble, but turned into something longer.
> 
> Like I said, this is my first attempt at Dragon Age fanfiction, and there are probably a lot of mistakes, but I hope sounds okay all the same.
> 
> Spoilers for Here Lies the Abyss if you haven't gotten to it yet. There's not really any spoilers for Dragon Age 2. 
> 
> This has male mage Hawke, and male rogue Trevelyan. Slash pairings. 
> 
> Please leave feedback! I'm nervous about posting this. Anything would be appreciated!

**This Isn’t Kirkwall**

_A Dragon Age Story (my first attempt at the fandom)_

_What has magic touched that it hasn’t spoiled._

Fenris said these words to Hawke once so long ago. He doesn’t feel he is wrong; magic can be quite evil. The Magisters of Tevinter, for example, are quite evil. Danarius burned lyrium into his veins, creating his unique lyrium markings. While this allows him unique – awesome, as Hawke calls them – abilities, he would rather he not have them. According to his sister, he fought for these markings. Killed for them, competed for them, wanted them more than anyone else. As he is without memories, this might be a lie, as Hawke told him once, over a bottle of wine when he was in a about of self-pity. For all he knows, everything he has been told about his previous life – and his previous name, Leto – might be a lie woven to keep him semi-complacent, or to deter his contentment found in Kirkwall.

He will admit his view of the world has become scarred and corrupted. All he has known is fury and anger and bitter resentment toward the Magisters, toward Tevinter, and toward mages in general.

Then he met Hawke.

Caleb Hawke, a mage he by rights should have hated upon sight. In fact, he _did_ hate him on sight. He needed his help at the time, so he overlooked it, but he didn’t like him by any means. Didn’t trust him, didn’t want to be near him, but he needed the help. So he attempted to bite his tongue – thought a few choice words did escape, leaving Hawke snapping at him and himself _apologizing_ for some reason – and they went to Danarius’ mansion to defeat his ex-master. However, Danarius wasn’t there.

That should have been the end of it. That should have been the end of his association with Hawke. With that mage. Except, if he was going to wait there like he intended, he would need coin, and he had little of that. Jobs with Hawke and his crew seemed like a necessary evil at the time. He would work alongside a mage to earn enough coin to ready himself for Danarius’ return.

Things didn’t quite go as planned, though.

Hawke kept returning to the mansion to ask him questions. At first he was wary of sharing too much of his past, but apparently a few bottles of wine loosened his tongue enough that he shared all that he knew. Hawke never used any of it against him like he thought he would. Fenris even set a few traps – let loose something which would give Hawke power over him, and kill him if he decided to exercise it. But it never happened.

Begrudgingly, they became friends. And then something more.

Sighing, Fenris fingers the red band around his wrist, a token of his affection and commitment to Caleb Hawke, wherever he might be.

It’s been months since he left in the dead of night, leaving only a note for Fenris to see when he woke the next morning. A note detailing how he received word from Varric, with the Inquisition, and thus left to help him. Corypheus was back, and Hawke felt obligated to help if he could. He left Fenris behind.

_The Inquisitor is with a mage, and there are a lot of free mages within Skyhold. You wouldn’t like it there, and you’re safer without me for the time being._

Those hastily scrawled words on white parchment still left him snorting under his breath. Why should the fact there are a lot of mages bother him? It is true he doesn’t much care for mages – save for Hawke, but that is beside the point – but he can at least tolerate them. Just because he doesn’t like them doesn’t mean he can’t be around them. As Hawke has shown him, not all mages are inherently evil.

So leaving him behind for the sole reason of there being a lot of mages is simply ludicrous. As for the safety part… Fenris knows perfectly well how dangerous the world, and mages, can be. He can defend himself just fine. He has done it for a long time, even before he met Hawke. So safety does not sway him one way or the other.

Hawke has always been like this, though. Always putting others first. He wants Fenris to be safe; the elf knows this. But ‘safety’ has little meaning if it can’t be true for both of them. He knows their relationship had a rocky start and hasn’t always been easy – it’s been downright painful sometimes – but surely Hawke knows how much he has come to care about the mage. It’s been years, after all. Years since they met, since they befriended each other, since they started something more.

Therefore, if Hawke is in danger, then Fenris is too, because he should be there.

Waiting these long months has been the hardest thing he’s ever done. The only reason he remains here, instead of traipsing across Thedas after Hawke, is because Hawke said please.

_Please don’t follow me. I’ll be back soon._

Hawke rarely asks for anything, and he never says ‘please’. The fact he does so now leaves Fenris reluctant to go against his wishes, just as much as he’s reluctant to stay here and do nothing. For all he knows, Hawke is already dead and won’t ever be coming back.

And yet…

Hawke always does the unthinkable. He always survives the unimaginable.

And he said he would be back, and Hawke is nothing if not a man of his word. When he makes a promise it is like a sacred oath. To break said oath is unthinkable.

So he will return. And Fenris will remain here, waiting for him, no matter how long it takes for the wayward mage to return.

No matter how much he wants to track him down and wring his neck for making him wait this long, for not even bothering to tell him goodbye in person, only in a note. A note which is worn thin and crumpled from how many times he has read it these past months, like if he reads it just one more time, there might be some hidden clue as to what he is supposed to do.

He wants to go after him just as much as he wants to stay.

Forever torn, no matter what he chooses.

xXx

A letter arrived today. It is addressed to him, and now he remembers one of the reasons he decided to remain here. If he is here, at least Hawke knows where and how to reach him should he need to tell him something, or contact him. And now a letter has arrived, but the envelope is not addressed in Hawke’s familiar, lazy scrawl. Instead the letters are neat and crisp – Varric’s handwriting.

_Something is wrong._

He knows this down in the pit of his stomach. There’s a knot forming. It’s this feeling he’s never learned quite how to deal with or control – this tightening of his lungs, making it difficult to breathe; the way his stomach twists and turns as though by a physical force; the way he feels like he is sinking, falling, into a void he wishes he pull himself out of before he has even plummeted.

He stares down at the envelope for a long moment. He doesn’t know why; the blank surface, save for his name on the front, is not going to tell him what he wishes to know. It won’t tell him what has happened in these past months. It won’t tell him where Hawke is.

Well, maybe it will.

But he knows he is not going to like it.

If he just stays here, looking down at it, but doesn’t open it, then it isn’t real. It isn’t real because no one has told him. Not knowing is better, he tells himself. It he doesn’t know the truth, he can live in denial without truly denying anything. Because it is not real, and cannot be real.

And yet he knows this won’t help.

The letter feels heavy as he pulls it free of the envelope.

 _Fenris,_ says Varric’s neat scrawl.

There’s something off about his handwriting, Fenris thinks. But it is something he can’t place. It seems forced; like it is something Varric does not wish to write, but has done so anyway, for his benefit.

There’s hesitation in the lines of Varric’s writing. Hesitation leaving a dark blot at the top of the ‘F’ in his name, the ink weighing heavily into the paper. He thinks it’s his name that gets to him the most. Varric never calls him Fenris, only _Broody_ , despite how often he complains about this. The fact he is using his name now…

Fenris steels himself with a breath and keeps reading. Now that he has started, he tells himself, he can’t stop.

_Fenris,_

_I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish things were different. Hawke doesn’t want me to say anything_ -

Fenris closes his eyes there. Hawke. Present tense. He is alive. He’s with Varric. That knot in his stomach and those steel bands around his lungs loosen and he can breathe again. He keeps reading.

_Hawke doesn’t want me to say anything but I feel like you need to know. They’re leaving me behind, but they are going to Adamant. The Grey Wardens have lost it. They’re summoning demons, trying to control the Blight. I know – sounds crazy. It is. Hawke, Inquisitor Trevelyan, and Stroud are all going. I’m telling you this because I know things are going to get complicated soon._

_Things are getting really bad, Broody. Hawke doesn’t want you to worry, but if things go south, I know he’ll have wanted to let you know in some way._

_He loves you, Broody. Don’t ever let him tell you differently. I’m not much for this sappy stuff, you know me. But I have a bad feeling about all of this. It doesn’t sit right. We’ve already lost Haven. Corypheus is… stronger. I really thought we killed him before. Or maybe it was just blind hope and wishful thinking._

_We messed up. Now we’re trying to make it right. I almost wish Hawke brought you here. We could use your help; you’re a fine warrior when you’re not being all broody._

_I don’t know why I’m sending this to you, honestly. I know you probably won’t even get it until they get back, or things go south. So there’s really no point, but here I am, sitting in a tavern in Skyhold, writing to you of all people._

_I haven’t talked to you in a while. I hope you are doing well. I’ll try to get Hawke back to you soon, Broody. I know how broody you get without him._

_Your friend,_

_Varric_

Fenris reads over the letter several times, looking for any hidden clues or messages, anything he might have missed. By the time he puts the letter down, he has the words memorized.

Things are getting worse, it seems. And Hawke is doing something stupid, like always. Corypheus is bad news. All of this is terrible. But _Varric_ is sounding oddly ominous now, and if that doesn’t alert him to the danger, he’s not sure what does.

He makes up his mind then, and picks up a satchel.

Skyhold is at least a week away, if he doesn’t make any stops along the way. A little over a week if he needs to sleep. Thankfully he doesn’t sleep much.

Hawke wants him to stay here, but this isn’t where he wants to be.

He’s done as Hawke asked for a while now. Months.

Now it is time to do as he wishes, and follow Hawke to Skyhold.

xXx

Skyhold is a lot different than he imagined. He’s not quite sure what he expected to find, but this certainly isn’t it. The place is covered in snow along the outskirts, surrounded by mountains. It is incredibly hard to get to, and he hates the cold. Give him volcanic heat any day, just not the icy chill of cold mountain air.

Inside Skyhold he finds mages walking about without a care in the world, it seems. He is used to seeing mages like Hawke and Anders, much as he is loath to include Anders in any way. Anders and Hawke always tried to hide what they were, even if they did flaunt it around a lot during battles in Lowtown at night. By the time Hawke became Champion of Kirkwall and made himself known as a mage, it was hardly a well-kept secret. Everyone knew but no one asked. They suspected but never asked to get confirmation.

He is used to seeing them hide what they are, if able.

Here, though, the mages walk around freely. There is no threat of Templars, no threat of capture. It reminds him of the Tevinter Imperium, in a way. He’s not aware he’s scowling until a passerby gives him an odd look, and he careful conceals his expression.

It’s not his fault his neutral expression appears brooding. It is partially why Varric gave him such a name, after all.

He has never been to Skyhold before, of course, so he isn’t sure where to go. He assumes the castle is the most likely place to find answers, so he travels inside. No one stops him. No one asks why he is here, why an elf should be allowed entry to such a place. Even in Kirkwall, after gaining a reputation for helping Hawke on his jobs which gained him popularity, the nobles still looked down their noses at him. Here, though, it is different.

“Broody?”

Varric’s voice stops him in his tracks and he turns to look off to the side, in a dark corner. There stands Varric near a small wooden table, papers scattered about, one of his novels next to the papers. He looks as he always had, even though it’s been almost a year since they have seen each other. He can’t help but feel himself relax in his friend’s presence.

“Varric,” he says in response, walking toward him. The dwarf smiles up at him. “I received your letter.”

“Which one?” Varric asks.

Fenris blinks slowly. “The one about Hawke going to Adamant.”

He wasn’t aware there were others.

Varric nods. “Oh, right. That was months ago, Broody.”

“Months ago?” he repeats, frowning. “But I only received it…”

Now he is confused, and worried.

“Where is Hawke?”

“Hawke’s not here,” Varric tells him, and Fenris sighs, feeling his shoulders droop. His feet ache from traveling here, barely stopping long enough to eat and sleep in his haste. Now it was all for nothing. “But he’ll be back soon.”

Fenris sighs again, this time in relief. Perhaps the trip wasn’t a waste after all. “When?”

“About a week,” Varric says. “He’s doing some scouting for the Inquisition, helping however he can. He didn’t want to return to you only to leave again. He sent a letter.”

“I didn’t get a letter,” Fenris says unnecessarily.

Varric nods. “He’ll be here soon and you two can talk. For what it’s worth, it’s good to see you, Broody. Been too long.”

Fenris nods, unable to come up with a decent reply. Varric grins at him.

The doors to the hallway burst open. Light spills into the area. He spins to find two humans walking down the hallway toward them. One is clearly a mage – his attire reeks of Tevinter. Immediately Fenris’ hand goes to the hilt of his broadsword. Varric’s hand on his wrist stops him, leaving him taking a slow breath. This is not his enemy. This is not a blood mage. Varric would warn him if they were in the company of a blood mage like Merrill.

The other human, clad in light armor with a cowl atop his head, mostly hiding his face, notices Fenris first. He leads the other man toward them and Varric’s grip on Fenris’ wrist tightens like he’s afraid Fenris might try something. He will admit the thought crossed his mind, but he won’t do anything unless this mage proves to be a threat.

“You must be Fenris,” says the human in cowl. The closer he gets the more Fenris can see his face, see the bright blue-green eyes and the smile already present on his lips. “Hawke spoke of you often.”

He nods slowly, as he does not know how to respond to that. He will admit he feels relived Hawke spoke of him. There were days, these past few months, when he had doubts of his relationship with Hawke. Did Hawke leave him behind to keep him safe, or because he was tired of Fenris’ company? He honestly couldn’t blame the mage if it was the latter.

“Cullen’s waiting on a game with you, Sparkler,” Varric says, addressing the mage.

The mage with the slightly curly mustache frowns before something seems to dawn on him, and he nods. He rests a hand very briefly on the other human’s shoulder, then quickly retracts said hand and turns to leave. Fenris watches his walk away.

“You’re right, Broody,” Varric says. “Dorian is a Tevinter altus. But you don’t have to worry about him, we’ve tamed him.”

The human rolls his eyes and takes off his cowl, revealing short-cropped, somewhat spiky dark brown, nearly black, hair. “Don’t let him hear you say that or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, your Inquisitorialness.”

Fenris fights the urge to roll his eyes. What is with Varric assigning everyone such ridiculous nicknames? First Broody, Blondie, Daisy…

“I assume you’re looking for Hawke,” says the guy. And now Varric’s words have dawned on him.

“You’re the Inquisitor,” he says blankly.

“I know – you were expecting someone taller,” says the Inquisitor.

Fenris shrugs. It sounds almost like something Hawke would say, and there’s stab of something inside of him. He misses the mage – has missed him since he left. It is something he wasn’t ready to admit until now, not even to himself. He probably won’t tell Hawke – at least not until he’s done snapping at him for leaving him behind. Once he’s finished being angry with him and Hawke has apologized for ditching him as he did, then maybe he’ll tell him how he missed the mage, and worried so much he traveled all the way to Skyhold because of a message Varric sent him about something _potentially_ going south.

“Schuyler Trevelyan, at your service,” the Inquisitor says, holding a hand out.

Fenris shakes it after a moment’s hesitation. “Fenris.” But the Inquisitor already knew that, because of Hawke.

Hawke has been talking about him.

Trevelyan smirks. “He only said good things, don’t worry.”

It’s like he read his mind.

“C’mon, Broody,” Varric says, releasing his grip on Fenris’ wrist. “First drink’s on me. It’s better than that swill at the Hanged Man.”

There’s a note of fond nostalgia in Varric’s voice at the mention of the Hanged Man. Fenris himself finds himself thinking about the place, too. He rarely ever drank there, but he remembers all the times they spent together in that tavern. All the card games Varric and Hawke played, along with some others occasionally. Fenris himself rarely joined in on the games; he preferred to watch. Watch everyone’s ‘poker face’, as it were. Watch their deceptively blank expressions and the laughs and smiles when one of them won.

He will admit he misses the Hanged Man, too.

There is a lot he misses about Kirkwall, surprisingly. He was never overly fond of the place at first, but now, looking back on it and their adventures there… a part of him wishes he could go back to that point in his life. Some things he would keep the same, and some things he would change. Make different choices in some aspects, like not walking out on Hawke after their first night together, too worried about his memories.

As it is, though, he cannot change the past so dwelling on such things is ridiculous.

He follows Varric toward the small tavern. There’s a fairly large crowd, filled with all sorts – elves, qunari, dwarves, humans…

“Hey, Tiny,” Varric says.

Fenris frowns at the giant Varric refers to. A large, bull-headed qunari. The qunari laughs, smacking a hand against Varric’s back, nearly knocking the blonde dwarf off his feet.

“Who’s your new friend?” the qunari asks.

“Fenris,” Varric says.

The qunari smiles. “Ah, Hawke’s friend, I take it. Or more than friend.”

Fenris says nothing though he does feel the tips of his ears burn ever-so-slightly. It’s not that he and Hawke aren’t open about their relationship – everyone seems to know about it – but they don’t talk about it to other people. It, too, is one of those ‘known but not spoken’ things.

The qunari holds out a large, callused hand. “They call me The Iron Bull. ‘The’ is important.”

Fenris quirks a brow but shakes the qunari’s hand. Not too long ago he would have balked at such a thing. The Tevinter Imperium and the qunari are enemies, and while the Fog Warriors were decent, but he’s also met some qunari who aren’t so friendly, such as the Arishok. He respected the Arishok, but that did not mean he liked him.

“I was gonna buy Broody here a drink,” Varric says to The Iron Bull. “Care to join us?”

“Only if you’re paying,” says the qunari.

Varric laughs and leads the way toward the barkeep.

xXx

It’s not long before Fenris finds himself rather bored. Nothing exciting happens in Skyhold. It’s not like Kirkwall, where there’s people to fight at night, and odd jobs to do every day. Instead it’s peaceful, everyone doing what they can for the Inquisition, strengthening their stronghold, mages walking around freely, mingling with qunari and dwarves and elves…

Some would call this place a frozen paradise.

Fenris is not one of those people.

He quickly becomes bored. On the third day he’s tired of walking around Skyhold, and decides to enter the library. Hawke taught him to read, and it _is_ a decent way to pass the time. He might as well keep up his reading while Hawke is away, since they haven’t read together in a long time.

He doesn’t really need Hawke as a teacher anymore, but it is still nice to do some things together. Yet another thing he finds himself missing.

“Perhaps I provide some assistance,” says a voice with a familiar accent. Fenris’ spine straightens and he turns to find the Tevinter mage leaning against a shelf next to him. “You’re Fenris, I presume?”

Fenris nods slowly.

The mage smiles. “Dorian Pavus of the Tevinter Imperium. Or as some refer to me: the evil mage from Tevinter.”

Fenris says nothing but keeps an eye on him.

“Is there anything I can help you find? Books are my specialty, you see.”

Fenris does not find that hard to believe. A lot of mages from Tevinter read books all the time. They like to think back on their history, even though it was built on the remains of the elves they enslaved. They also like to study spell books.

“Nothing in particular,” he says briskly.

“When is Hawke due back?” the mage, Dorian, asks.

“A week.”

 _A few days_ , Fenris silently amends. It has been a few days since he arrived, after all.

“Ah, yes. Schuyler is very excited to reunite the two of you. He has been keeping a sharp eye on the bridge, you see.”

The bridge into Skyhold.

It is nice to know he will be informed the minute someone sees Hawke approaching, but it is also disconcerting to realize his ‘reunion’ is much anticipated. Their relationship has never been flashy. It is known but not seen. To know he is being watched…

“I’m told you are from Tevinter, originally,” Dorian says conversationally as he sits at a small table near the shelf, picking up a forgotten book along the tabletop. He flips through it casually, barely reading through a few pages before he seems to settle on a passage.

“Originally,” Fenris says distastefully. “It was not by choice.”

Except, according to his sister and Danarius, it _was_ by choice. He competed for these markings. He competed to be Danarius’ pet. The thought alone is nauseating.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Dorian says. “Those markings are lyrium, right?”

Fenris nods stiffly. It not something he really wishes to discuss.

“Dreadful thing, that ritual. For what it’s worth I’m sorry you had to endure such trauma. It is truly sickening how some of my countrymen can be.”

It is strange to hear a Tevinter mage saying such things. Fenris shrugs. All mages will say whatever it takes to get what they want.

And then he frowns, because there he goes again, lumping all the mages together. Hawke is a mage; he isn’t like the others. Even if that makes him the exception to the rule, it is still wrong to call of the mages the same.

_What has magic touched that it hasn’t spoiled?_

When he said those words he meant them. Perhaps he still does. Perhaps the world wouldn’t be this way if there weren’t any mages using magic.

The Blight, Tevinter, Kirkwall, now this… The end of days, the Herald of Andraste, the Breach and Corypheus…

If it were not for the touch of magic, Thedas might be a safer, quieter place.

 _But the same could be said for your sword, or arrows,_ a voice says in his mind, sounding startlingly like Hawke. It would figure his inner voice would become the person he hasn’t seen in months.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Dorian asks, and Fenris realizes the man has been speaking this whole time and he has been lost in thought. “I apologize – I like to rant, you see. I’m told it can be… _distracting_.”

He says ‘distracting’ with a hint of a smile on his face. His brown eyes lighten to this softer hue. Fenris knows that look, has seen it on himself when he glances in a mirror whilst in Hawke’s presence.

He has heard rumors in Skyhold. The people here like to gossip, much like the nobles gossiped in Kirkwall. It has always irked Fenris, but at the moment he doesn’t mind it so much, mainly because the rumors aren’t focused on him and Hawke, but instead on another pairing.

“I’ve heard you and the Inquisitor are together,” he says. He’s not sure why he does so, why he’s even still speaking with this mage, this symbol of everything he hates. He is from Tevinter, no less! He should walk away, leave him where he stands, or attack him. Instead he does none of those things.

The truth is his feet hurt, and he is tired of running. Tired of fleeing from the world, from mages, and especially from the Tevinter Imperium. What happened in the past happened; it cannot be changed. Hawke taught him this. He needs to get over the past and live for the present and the future.

This seems like a good first step, speaking amicably with the Tevinter mage.

Dorian’s face grows red for a moment before he quickly composes himself and flashes a smile. “Rumors,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “Good rumors, I hope. I do hope I sound amazing in them. I do, right? Of course I do.”

Fenris shrugs. “If it’s not true, you need only say so, mage.”

Dorian’s smile falters somewhat. “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

Dorian sighs dramatically. “We’re having fun.”

“I see.”

“Okay… maybe it’s more than fun.”

Fenris quirks a brow.

“Okay, fine! You and that accursed eyebrow. Did you and Schuyler learn it at the same place? Perhaps I should take lessons and turn it back on the two of you! Yes, the Inquisitor and I have become… intimate.”

Fenris almost smirks. Bothering Dorian is almost as pleasing as ruffling Anders’ feathers, though he will never admit this to anyone. He doesn’t like Anders, but getting a rise out of him was always at least a littler interesting. He was a worthy verbal adversary, in their many arguments. In the end, though, Anders always won because at the end of the day, Hawke was still a mage and he could hate mages all he wanted, but he could never condemn Hawke with them.

“But you know what it’s like, I’m sure,” Dorian continues, waving a hand at him as his gaze darts back down to the book open on the table. “You and Hawke, I mean.”

Fenris is quiet for a moment.

Dorian looks back up at him. “It’s not a secret, but it’s not obvious, either,” the mage tells him, and Fenris hates how he relaxes a little at this statement.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of Hawke, or worried about being seen together or anything, but he doesn’t like everyone knowing about his private life. What he and Hawke do behind closed doors is their business, and no one else’s.

“I will leave you to your books,” Fenris finally says, turning to leave.

“Do come see me if you find you want to read something of worth,” Dorian calls after him. “This library is almost worthwhile.”

Fenris doesn’t reply as he walks back down the stairs, away from the mage and his talk of books.

xXx

By the end of the week, when it is time for Hawke to arrive, Fenris is nearly going out of his mind with boredom. Inactivity. His mind is active, always thinking, but there is little for his body to do. Everything seems to be covered here in Skyhold. No one needs help, there is no crime to fight, no jobs to do…

It is peaceful.

He finds he misses Kirkwall even more.

Strange how such a place could be so missed.

Hawke should arrive any day now. Fenris spends his time mostly in the tavern with Varric. Despite his boredom, Varric is his friend and he always has crazy stories to tell, especially now that’s he with the Inquisition. It is interesting to see all the obstacles the Inquisitor has overcome. It reminds Fenris of Kirkwall yet again, except on a much larger scale.

It’s a little after a week of waiting that Fenris learns of what happened at Adamant.

It’s not like he wasn’t curious, but he never asked. Hawke is okay, so it doesn’t really matter what happened there, right? Except when the subject is broached one night in the tavern, over a game of Wicked Grace between Varric, The Iron Bull, and Dorian, Varric suddenly goes quiet. His poker face is gone, replaced by one of sadness as he looks down at the cards in his hand.

“It ain’t pretty, Broody.”

“What happened?” Fenris asks.

“They went bodily into the Fade,” Varric tells him. “Almost didn’t make it out. Not everyone did.”

Fenris frowns. The Fade is something he finds himself almost hating, most of the time. It gives mages their powers, houses demons, and in general has caused a lot of confusion and chaos to the world. He knows mages go there when they dream, and call upon the Fade when they cast spells, but going bodily into the Fade…

He can understand why Varric was worried, now.

“Don’t worry, Broody,” Varric says, offering a small smile, “Hawke made it out okay. Stroud didn’t, though.”

Fenris nods. He remembers Stroud. He was a good man, and Hawke’s friend. Fenris himself was never quite friends with the man, but he was decent enough. It is terrible that he died in the Fade. _Bodily_ in the Fade.

The door to the tavern bursts open then, and in walks the Inquisitor. He’s grinning as he walks through the tavern to join them, standing just over Dorian’s shoulder as he looks at Fenris with that large smile.

“Guess who’s back,” he says.

Fenris is on his feet before he knows he is moving at all. Varric tosses him a smug smile and waves him away. Fenris follows the Inquisitor out of the tavern and through Skyhold, toward the entrance.

And there, a lone figure is walking into Skyhold.

A very familiar shadow, shoulder’s slumped in evident exhaustion, but he is alive and well and Fenris is moving before he realizes his legs have decided to have a mind of their own. Hawke looks up, surprised at the sudden approaching footsteps, and the multitude of emotions warring for control on his face leaves Fenris taking those last few steps toward him, crushing the two of them together.

He has never been overly physical – it can be painful, sometimes, with his markings – but right now he can’t stop himself. It has been too long. Too long of waiting and worrying and wondering if he was dead, or would be coming home.

Home, to that small cabin they managed to find before Hawke left in the middle of the night. Left the one time Fenris was too tired to wake up at the slightest movement. The one night he didn’t startle and awaken as Hawke rolled out of bed.

Hawke’s arms are warm and solid and real around him.

He smells of sweat and blood and dirt, but it is all so achingly reminiscent of their days in Kirkwall that Fenris breaths in deeply, savoring the moment. The moment when it feels like all the pieces of his life has finally been sewn back together. These past few months have been terrible, and he wishes to never go through such a process again.

“Don’t do that again,” he says without meaning to, but the words are quiet and honest and he can’t take them back. Doesn’t want to.

Hawke’s laugh is warm and breathy in his ear, just like it has always been. The two pull apart and Hawke is smiling at him with those dark brown eyes, his beard a little longer than usual as he hasn’t had the proper time to shave or provide any upkeep. He looks ragged and tired and pale, covered in dirt and snow and bloodstains, but he is alive and whole and Fenris has missed him.

“I’m glad you came,” Hawke says. “Did you get my letter?”

“No,” Fenris says, frowning. “I only got one of Varric’s letters.”

“Must have gotten lost along the way, then,” Hawke sighs, shaking his head, before he’s smiling at him again. “Man, I’ve missed you, elf.”

Fenris’ lips twitch upward ever-so-slightly. “Don’t do that again, mage.”

Hawke tosses his head back and laughs, loud and happy. “I’m still in shock you’re here. Did you see Varric? The Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” Fenris says, nodding.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Hawke says, still grinning at him. He throws an arm around Fenris’ shoulders. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Varric is in the tavern,” Fenris informs him. “As are others.”

“I take it you’ve met everyone.”

It is not a question, so he does not bother responding.

Instead he finds himself leaning into the warmth Hawke’s body provides, and allows himself to be led back toward the tavern.

And then Hawke and Varric are chatting and laughing like always, over a game of Wicked Grace with their drinks in front of them, and it feels like home.

Sure, there are new faces and new people, and Skyhold is peaceful, but for the first time in months, Fenris feels himself relaxing completely.

Skyhold will never be Kirkwall.

It will never have those same memories of Kirkwall.

That doesn’t mean it’s bad, though.

In fact, surrounded by Hawke and Varric…

It feels a lot like home.

**Author's Note:**

> And there's that. Like I said, I'm not too sure about it because it's my first attempt at Dragon Age fanfiction, but I hope it sounds okay. I'm going to try a Trevelyan/Dorian story soon, if I can get my mind to let me. Any feedback would be appreciated!


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